


until i wrap myself inside your arms, i cannot rest

by fletcherstringham



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Aged-Up Characters, Automail, Body Dysphoria, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Face-Sitting, Future Fic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Scars, Vaginal Fingering, automail kink, sorry heteros these girls are gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletcherstringham/pseuds/fletcherstringham
Summary: Without words, Lan Fan's feelings are clear: outside of battle, her automail is a thing of shame, a deformity, a repellence.  Mei Chang feels the fierce desire to prove her wrong—to demonstrate to her that nothing about her could ever be truly ugly.





	until i wrap myself inside your arms, i cannot rest

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Groping Blindly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450159) by [Xyriath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath). 



> anyway, i'm in meifan hell and this needed to exist. check out the link above for another great fic where lan fan bangs a royal sib who thinks her automail is the bomb.com, written by the amazing xyri! 
> 
> sorry for the absence, been pretty busy + not had a lot of inspo, but hopefully this makes up for it!! hope you're all doing well. ♥

Lan Fan is a particular woman, when given the freedom to be, at least—and Mei encourages her particularities with eagerness.  She must be up before the sun each day, even on her days off, or she’ll spend the rest of the morning in a towering temper.  She never takes sugar in her tea.  She will allow Xiao-Mei (who adores her, oddly enough; perhaps it’s because they aren’t dissimilar) to lick her, but never on the face.  And she always, always makes love with her shirt on.

It’s this last that, unlike the rest, Mei wishes to correct.

The dying light of sunset pours in through the western window and paints intricate shadows over Mei’s naked breasts and belly, and Lan Fan traces them with the delicacy of an artist with her brush, using her lips, her tongue; every now and then, Mei’s back arches at a surprise hint of her teeth.  Her fingers—those of her right hand, at least—are not idle: with them she follows the gentle curve of Mei’s side, over her breast, waist, and hip until she’s massaging the outside of her thigh, which immediately parts from its twin at the touch.  A low, pleased chuckle in Lan Fan’s throat, and her mouth catches a nipple, inspiring a moan.

“It’s unkind to tease, dearest,” Mei tells her, voice high and all breath.  Her answer is a sudden, brutal suck of her nipple; she hardly stifles a shriek as she feels it wrinkle to exquisite hardness under Lan Fan’s expert tongue.

She decides to make use of her own hands—previously fluttering helplessly at her sides under so delicious an assault.  One twines itself in the thick, dark mass of Lan Fan’s unbound hair, while the other splays across her back, fingernails digging in as best she can to lightly scratch her spine.  Lan Fan sighs into the hollow between Mei’s breasts, and Mei takes the initiative to drag her nails downward, until her fingertips reach the hem of Lan Fan’s blouse.

Mei grasps the fabric in her hand, and Lan Fan freezes.

Never has she exposed her upper body as they made love.  Only once has Mei even seen her fully undressed, to inspect an injury she had accidentally delivered while sparring with her.  Recently, Lan Fan has allowed Mei to touch her beneath her shirt—her back, her belly, her breasts—but only on the right side; even an inch too close to her left shoulder will make her recoil like a wounded animal, her eyes hidden and her face clouded, the night ruined.  Without words, her feelings are clear: outside of battle, her automail is a thing of shame, a deformity, a repellence. 

Until now, Mei has let her disagreement remain silent, going along with her and allowing her to remain staunchly covered up during their passion.  Nothing has happened to change things, and yet Mei suddenly feels the fierce desire to not only put voice to her thoughts, but to prove Lan Fan’s wrong—to demonstrate to her that nothing about her could ever be truly ugly.

Mei grips her shirt tighter, and Lan Fan begins to pull away.

“No, please,” Mei says, and Lan Fan pauses, brow furrowing.  Mei has never challenged her in this.  She knows she must tread carefully so as not to frighten her off.  “Lan Fan.  Darling.  I—I want to see.”

Another chuckle, but this one lacks any humor whatsoever.  Her response is cold and quiet.  “No, you don’t.”

“I do!”  Mei releases the hem of the blouse and cups Lan Fan’s face in her hands, urgent and pleading.  “I do, I really do.  I understand how you feel, but, Lan Fan—it’s still part of you.  And every part of you is beautiful.  You believe me when I say that, don’t you?  I wouldn’t lie to you about this, not ever.”

“I know you wouldn’t.  I just—”  Lan Fan closes her eyes with an exhale, leaning back to sit on her knees in front of Mei.  Unconsciously, it seems, her right hand reaches up to cover her left shoulder.  “It isn’t pretty, Princess.  That’s an objective fact.  It’s scarred and knotted and ugly and you tell me you’ll find it beautiful nonetheless, but that’s easy to say without actually seeing it.  I—I’m scared that if you do, you’ll take it all back.  You might not say so out loud.  But I’ll see the horror or disgust or repulsion in your eyes and I’ll never be able to face you again, and it would kill me inside but it might even be for the better, because you deserve someone whole.”

This last seems to spill from her mouth without her consent: her eyes widen a fraction and color appears in her cheeks, a flush of shock and shame rather than pleasure.  Mei, stunned by this revelation, slowly sits up herself, looking into Lan Fan’s face as Lan Fan avoids her eyes.

“What does it matter what I deserve?” she says after several moments of quiet.  “What I want is you.”  Lan Fan’s lips part, and her flush grows darker.  “It’s you that I love, Lan Fan—not some ‘whole’ person I might pluck out of thin air to replace you.  If such a person even exists.  I doubt anyone in the entire world is truly ‘whole,’ Lan Fan.  We all have scars, and baggage, and parts of ourselves we would rather hide.  But love is the willingness to expose those parts and leave ourselves vulnerable, knowing the object of our affections will accept us for them, no matter how much we may despise them. 

“It isn’t easy,” she continues, and pulls a hand from Lan Fan’s face to clasp her left wrist, the one made of steel.  She caresses the automail as though it were flesh.  “I have confessed my sins, my fears, my sorrows and hopes and longings—I’ve revealed it all, and I promise that it was no simple task for me.  I dreaded every step of the way that you would judge me, mock me, hate me for the things I shared.  I can only imagine how much difficult it must be for you, whose scars are physical as well as mental and emotional.  But, Lan Fan, I beg you to believe me—there is nothing you could show me that would disgust me, or repulse me, or make me feel anything less than utmost affection and desire for you.  All of your flaws, physical and otherwise, only serve to make you more beautiful to me, because they’re part of what makes you the indescribable woman who sits before me.  Don’t you see?  To me, your ‘ugly’ is beautiful.  _You_ are beautiful, inside and out.  And no small or large amount of physical imperfection could change my mind about that.”

Lan Fan is a brilliant scarlet now, her lovely dark eyes shining as she finally lifts them to Mei’s face.  “You’re such a pretty talker,” she finally says, her lips twitching as she fights a smile.  “It’s no wonder His Imperial Majesty has you at the head of his council of advisors.  With your talent for speech, you could convince them all that the sky is green and the sun rises in the west, and they would call it poetry.”

“I only mean to reassure, not to convince.”  Mei makes her tone gentle.  “If you still don’t want to show me, please don’t feel obligated.  But if fear that I’ll reject you is all that holds you back, you shouldn’t let it.  After all—” and here, a note of amusement creeps into her voice, “—you did try to kill me once.  If I couldn’t reject you even after an attempt on my life, how could I reject you for a few scars?”

“If memory serves, you attacked me first,” Lan Fan replies at once, but with no genuine heat.  The smile is soft and shy on her lips, her cheeks still very pink as she shuts her eyes again and heaves a loud sigh.  “All right.  But only because I love you so much.  Just—promise not to stare too much.”

Mei gives her word, then bites her lip in anticipation as Lan Fan gives another exhale, grasps the hem of her shirt, and in one swift movement pulls it over her head and discards it.

She needn’t have worried about Mei staring apprehensively at her automail: she’s distracted at once by the loveliest set of breasts she’s ever laid eyes on, perfectly round and soft-looking, the flesh creamy and the nipples dark and pebbly.  She only promised not to stare at the automail, and so Mei lets her gaze linger, swallowing against the sudden flood of moisture in her mouth.

“May I?” she asks softly, lifting a hand

Her mouth quirking, Lan Fan nods, and Mei immediately slides forward to cup both breasts in her palms.  She squeezes, and Lan Fan gives a tiny noise, then another when Mei rubs the stiff nipples with her thumbs.  Slowly, giving her plenty of time to withdraw, Mei bows her head and captures the left nipple between her lips, flicking at it with her tongue, eliciting a low groan.  What begins as gentle suckling quickly becomes fiercer, harder, until Mei has pushed Lan Fan onto her back and straddled her waist to attack both of her breasts with passionate fervor, alternating between eager kisses and nips hard enough to leave blooming red marks on her flesh, like wine stains on a linen tablecloth.

Lan Fan’s right hand cradles the small of Mei’s back as she works, massaging idly as she tilts her head this way and that in pleasure—yet, her left arm remains out of the picture, held awkwardly to the side to keep it out of the way.  That just won’t do, Mei thinks.  Bracing herself with a breath, Mei sits up slightly in Lan Fan’s lap, takes her left wrist, and places the steel hand on her waist.

Lan Fan goes still.

Mei bites the inside of her cheek, afraid that even this simple gesture was too much.  Then, after a few tense moments of silence, Lan Fan’s hand relaxes, and she cradles Mei’s hip with the automail as easily as anything.  Mei can’t fight a relieved smile.

“May I ask you something?”  Lan Fan nods.  “Your automail—how much can it feel?  Do you feel how warm my skin is, or just that there’s something beneath your hand?  Or even that?”

Lan Fan thinks about her answer, her teeth teasing at the corner of her lip.  “I can’t feel temperature,” she responds.  “And texture is very limited.  But I can feel hardness versus softness.  For instance—” and her voice grows quiet, her eyes liquid pools of desire, “—you’re very soft under my hands, Princess.  Very soft indeed.  And I can feel enough of your warmth with the one hand that I don’t really need both.”

“You make me very warm,” Mei tosses back, blushing as if to demonstrate.  She bites her own lip, struck with a sudden idea.  “If I were to kiss your hand, could you feel it?”

Lan Fan grows quiet, thoughtful.  “I don’t know,” she says softly.  “I haven’t ever tried it.  But you’re welcome to, if you really want.”

Mei doesn’t hesitate.  She picks up the steel hand, admiring the careful craftsmanship of the digits and carpals, and then turns it over to press a delicate kiss to the palm.  She lifts her eyes to Lan Fan’s face, waiting to see her reaction.

“I can sort of feel the pressure,” she says, sounding slightly breathless.  “Not much the warmth or wetness of your mouth.”  She swallows, then adds, “It… feels nice, though.  You being so eager to kiss it.  I would never have imagined someone wanting to kiss it.”

Mei repeats the action, determined to demonstrate how eager she is indeed to lavish Lan Fan with the affection she deserves.  She kisses her palm, the back of her hand, the front and rear of her wrist and forearm, even the metal hinge of her elbow—traveling up and up until at last she reaches the join of steel and flesh.  True to Lan Fan’s account, the skin here bears heavy scars, both from the initial operation and the subsequent one to reattach it when it was nearly torn from her body during the Promised Day, the flesh forming knots like varicose veins.  And, in a way, Lan Fan was right.  It isn’t pretty.

It’s utterly gorgeous.

“You don’t have to—” Lan Fan begins, and then Mei silences her with a long, slow kiss to the precise spot where the automail meets her body.  Lan Fan makes a sound caught between a moan and a gasp; her eyelids flutter, but do not close.  “Princess,” she murmurs.

“I told you that you’re beautiful to me.  Did you think I lied?”  Mei kisses the hollow of her throat, her collar, then again the join of steel and skin.  Her tongue sneaks past her lips, and she uses it to trace the many scars at Lan Fan’s shoulder: she paints meaningless shapes, circles and lines, the characters for her own and Lan Fan’s names.  The character for _beautiful_.  The character for _love_.  “Before me lies the most gorgeous woman in the whole wide world,” Mei whispers to her, “and I’m going to make love to her, and make her body _sing_.  And I would beg her to show me pleasure in return, if she feels comfortable doing so.”

“You don’t have to beg,” Lan Fan murmurs back.  “Though you’re cute when you do.”

With her superior strength, she takes Mei around the waist and turns them over so that Lan Fan hovers atop her, Mei’s legs clasped loosely around her hips.   She captures Mei’s mouth in a kiss, and Mei allows the thing happily, wrapping her arms tightly around Lan Fan’s neck; meanwhile, Lan Fan braces herself on her right arm and, for the first time, allows her automail hand to explore Mei’s eager body.  Cool metal fingers travel down the pulsing veins in her throat, the bones of her collar and sternum, the gentle curves of her quivering breasts—Mei gasps as she pinches a nipple gently between two steel fingers.

“Is this okay?” Lan Fan breathes, mingled anxiety and pleasure in her face.

Mei nods immediately, taking her lip between her teeth as Lan Fan continues to squeeze her nipple.  She skips back and forth between the two, rubbing and squeezing; then she cups Mei’s left breast in her palm, where it fits as neatly as though it were meant to be there.

“I want to feel you,” Mei says in a tight voice.  She holds out her arms in invitation.  “Please, it’s what I’ve been missing, Lan Fan, darling, love.  I want to feel your body against mine.”

Releasing her breast, Lan Fan leans down, wraps her arms around Mei’s waist, and tugs their bodies close together—chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh.  Mei gives a long, low moan as their breasts press against one another’s, Lan Fan’s round ones pressing Mei’s smaller, more modest pair flat against her chest.  Their lips find each other again, their breaths heavy as their hands continue to roam; Mei strokes Lan Fan’s bare back and bottom freely, while Lan Fan returns to rubbing the outside of her thigh, this time the left.  As they continue to kiss, those fingers slide over the curve of the muscle to the soft flesh on the inside of her leg, then creep slowly upward, until they brush the beginnings of the dark, shiny curls that cover her sex.  Lan Fan hesitates, and Mei, eyes closed in bliss, peers through her lashes at her anxious face.

“I—I’ll switch hands,” she begins, but Mei shakes her head at once.

“There’s no need.  Remember, there’s nothing about you that could ever repulse me,” Mei reminds her.  Then it’s her turn to blush, turning her head away slightly.  “Besides,” she adds quietly, “I want to feel it.”

In her periphery, she sees Lan Fan quirk an eyebrow.  “You want to feel it?”  Then, as the realization hits her: “Princess, have you _thought_ about it?”

“Only in passing!”  Her cry of defense may as well be a detailed confession.  “It’s—it’s only natural, isn’t it?  To wonder how these things work?  At first it was only for you, wondering how you might—how you might p-please yourself with that hand—” here, her cheeks burn more hotly, “—and somewhere along the way, my thoughts… took a slight turn.”  She chances a look at Lan Fan.  To her horror, there’s a smirk beginning at the corners of her lips.  “It was not my motivation for getting you to expose yourself to me!” she adds with a touch of heat.  “I only wanted you to understand the depths of my devotion for you, thank you!  There was nothing perverted about it!”

Lan Fan hums, playfully doubtful.  She’s lovely when she smiles, crinkled eyes and curved lips, yet Mei hardly hastens to appreciate that smile when it’s at her expense.  “What a surprising little minx you are, Princess.  The body my mother gave me—yours for the taking—isn’t enough for you?  It’s my steel hand that you imagine between your legs when you touch yourself at night?”

“Don’t be crass!” Mei yelps, and Lan Fan laughs.

“Well, it makes you braver than me.  I only use my right hand,” she tells Mei.  She rolls her shoulders in a shrug.  “However, if you insist…”

Still grinning, she leans in close, pressing her lips to Mei’s in a chaste, delicate kiss as her automail hand returns to the apex of her thighs.  Slowly, slowly, her fingers inch upward, until Mei’s lower lips part beneath them and allow them easy entry, slick as she is.  She begins with just one, though Mei’s body craves more, sliding it in and curling it until it meets that delicious spot inside her.  Mei moans, soft and needy, and Lan Fan caresses her cheek.

“Tell me about these fantasies of yours, Princess,” Lan Fan breathes.  “Tell me how I touched you then so I know how I ought to now.  Tell me what you thought about as you brought yourself off rubbing your little throw pillow between your thighs—I can hear you at night when I’m doing my rounds, you know, and it takes so much self-control not to stop and listen longer, or to simply come in and finish you myself.”

Mei’s cheeks are hot as desert suns as she squeezes her eyes shut tight.  “Sometimes you took me on my back, but mostly, you took me on my hands and knees.  You bent me over and filled me with your fingers, and I trembled beneath your touch until I came off.  Again and again.”  This last is the tiniest of whispers—she half-hopes that Lan Fan won’t hear.

The answering groan destroys that hope, of course.  “What a mess you would be,” Lan Fan murmurs.  “ _One_ climax leaves you shaking and crying—if I allowed you several, why, you’d wake up the emperor with your shouting and sobbing.”

“ _‘Allowed’_ me?” Mei repeats caustically.  “The arrogance!  I’ll have as many as I well please, thank you, whether I have your help or not.”

“With what?  Your throw pillow?”  Lan Fan leans back on her haunches and makes a big to-do of searching Mei’s bed for the item in question; Mei sits up, picks up a different pillow, and lightly whacks her with it.  “Oh, like that will inspire me to give you what you want!” 

“You’ll give me what I want because it pleases you.  I know you,” Mei responds, her voice haughty.  “To see me shake under your ministrations arouses you like nothing else.  You’ve soiled your underwear several times before listening to me outside my door, and had to leave my poor brother unguarded as you ran to your rooms to change them.  Then, when your shift ended, you came to me quick as a flash and rode my mouth as an equestrian does a horse as you tasted me in turn.”

“Well, then, forgive me if I would rather occupy that nasty little mouth of yours than leave it free for talking.”  Mei raises her pillow to strike her again for the jibe, but Lan Fan is quicker: she dives forward and pushes Mei back into a prone position, her mouth latching onto her neck and her fingers—two this time—sinking back into her slick, hot opening.  Whatever Mei had meant to say in retort dies in her throat.

“Cheater,” she squeaks, barely managing to speak around a groan.  “That’s— _ah!_ —that’s cheating.”

“All’s fair in love and war, Princess.”  The fingers curl, and Mei’s toes mirror the movement, her head dropping back in pleasure.  “Besides, you’re much cuter when you’re not able to snipe.”

“Y—”

She cuts off Mei’s response with a sudden thrust, and Mei, struck through with sudden pleasure, whines.  Her back arches as Lan Fan repeats the sweet torment several times and then, as Mei lies struggling to catching her breath, says, “What was that you said before, Princess?  Something about me taking you on your hands and knees?”

“Oh, so you want to please me now?” Mei pants.  “You’re through torturing me instead?”

“You say that as though the two are mutually exclusive.”  Lan Fan sits up again, patting the mattress beside her.  “Come on, then.  Make a table of yourself, and we’ll see if I can’t make my little hummingbird trill.”

Her legs shaking, Mei obeys the directive, though she shoots Lan Fan a glance at the epithet.  Lan Fan takes her place behind her; her hands, flesh and steel, travel up her flanks and squeeze her rear as Mei trembles on all fours, longing—though unwilling to admit it yet—to be touched.  Finally, as she’s on the brink of begging, the cool metal of an automail finger slips between her thighs and up her slit, finding with ease the swollen bud just beneath her pubic bone.  Lan Fan presses down on her clitoris, and Mei grits her teeth against a yelp.

“That’s the good place, isn’t it?” Lan Fan murmurs.  The pressing turns to rubbing; Mei drops her head between her shoulders as she exhales, her breath already fast and heavy.  “My own pretty princess.  Xing’s spring cherry blossom, on her knees for me.  You have the voice of an angel, did you know that, Princess?  It’s especially lovely when you moan.”

The speed of her movements—as well as the filth of her words—increase with her confidence: very soon she’s sliding her forefinger back into Mei, and a second joins it moments after.  She begins a pattern of thrusts that quickly has Mei keening like a lost kitten, her upper body dropping so that she might better bear herself to Lan Fan’s clever, clever hands.  Lan Fan doesn’t miss the gesture, chuckling as she pauses to let Mei take a gulp of air.

“Cruel vixen,” she whimpers.  “Evil woman.”

“Is it everything you hoped for, Princess?” Lan Fan sings, as though the insults were dearest praises.

No.  No, it isn’t, because even Mei’s fantastic imagination, the very same that caused her and others much trouble in her girlhood, could not stretch so far as to encompass everything she’s feeling right now.  The unyielding steel pressing inside her—the gradual shift of temperature as the cool automail leeches the heat of her most intimate place—the confident roughness with which Lan Fan takes her—even the vulnerability of her position, her upper body bowed, her hips and rear end in the air—utterly exposed, a complete wanton.  Her heart races and will not calm; her breaths catch in her throat as she struggles to swallow them.  She whines instead of replies and feels the rabid flush in her cheeks grow even hotter as Lan Fan, despicable minx, beautiful woman, laughs again.

Gingerly, not wanting to cause undue pain, she pushes another finger in.  The stretch is tight but not unbearable; Mei exhales as her body adjusts to the intrusion, then sighs as Lan Fan rewards her patience with another curl of those fingers, rubbing up against that sweet spot inside her.  Her breath, already impossibly fast, picks up as Lan Fan resumes her thrusts, starting slow but quickly increasing in speed until she’s all but slamming her fingers into Mei—and Mei meets those fingers each time with eagerness, pushing her hips back as they disappear within her again and again, her series of high, needy gasps melding together to one long wail of pleasure. 

“L-Lan—Fan—Lan—”  Her brain flooded with hormones, her body tense and trembling as it prepares for release, Mei begins the sentence with no clue how she intended to finish it.  There’s something she means to tell her—something vitally important, like how astoundingly beautiful she is, or how grateful Mei is that they have this to share together, or even simply how ecstatically good Lan Fan is making her feel—but it hardly matters in mere moments, because the fire in her belly and lightning between her legs both reach their zenith and she can soon only think of one thing.  “Oh.  Oh, love, I’m g-going to come.”

“Going to come?” Lan Fan says, as though she’s never heard of such a thing.  Mei nods desperately, her hair flying about, her mouth open as she pants without caring how she might look.

The thrusting of Lan Fan’s fingers decrease speed for just a moment, just until Mei bites out that magic word Lan Fan wants to hear— _“Please!”_ —and then it resume with fervor, fast and hard in her own passionate determination to see Mei enjoy her climax.  Mei teeters on that edge for several delirious seconds, white spots appearing in her line of vision and her heart in her mouth, and then Lan Fan murmurs _her_ magic words that send her toppling over, like a bird in first flight—

“Come for me.  That’s my good girl.”

Mei collapses.  Her arms give out, utterly useless, and she wails into the mattress as her orgasm crashes over her in waves—and with each, she chokes out her beloved’s name.  “Lan Fan—Lan _Fan_ —”  For nearly thirty solid seconds, she shakes, and then it’s over, all over, and she’s sinking into the bed with a soft sob as Lan Fan carefully withdraws her fingers and lies beside her to draw her inert figure into her arms.

“Mei,” she murmurs to her, dropping her customary titles at last.  With her clean hand, the flesh one, she sweeps stray strands of Mei’s hair out of her face.  “Oh, Mei.  What a beautiful girl you are.  I’m so lucky to have you, so lucky you want me—you should run at the mere thought of me touching you, yet here you are weeping because of pleasure I gave you.  Thank you, Princess.  Thank you for not running from me.  Thank you for letting me give you the pleasure you deserve, or a fraction of it, anyway.”

“Give me your hand,” Mei tells her, holding hers out.  Lan Fan extends her flesh, then her automail when Mei shakes her head, and Mei sits up halfway and promptly takes two digits into her mouth, sucking them clean.  Lan Fan’s pretty words dissolve into a low moan.

She’s always enjoyed the taste of a woman’s release, even her own, and so it’s no trouble for Mei to lick the steel fingers until they shine under the low light of a single lamp, the sun having long since disappeared beneath the horizon.  She isn’t satisfied, however, and so she leans up to kiss Lan Fan, their lips still pressed together as Mei whispers, “Let me taste you, please.  Remember, I promised to make you sing.”

“That you did,” Lan Fan answers, her breath hitching.  She makes to lie down, but again, Mei shakes her head and redirects her: lying prone herself and eagerly extending her hands to her love.  Lan Fan needs no other hint, and she aligns her knees with Mei’s shoulders as she straddles her head—careful of her hair—preparing to sink down onto her mouth.  Then, as it often does, her anxiety returns.  “You’re sure, aren’t you?” she asks.

The very first time Mei had used her mouth on Lan Fan, it had taken much coaxing and reassuring, Lan Fan fearing that such an act was “beneath” her.  After all, why should a princess kneel between the legs of a lowly guard and serve her?  Mei impressed upon her that she cared nothing of ranks and _wanted_ to please Lan Fan in this way, and for the most part, she succeeded in convincing her of it—but, now and then, her old worries resurface, and Mei must quell them all over again.  She’s happy to do so, of course, always wanting Lan Fan to feel comfortable with her.

“Absolutely.”  Mei kisses the inside of her thigh and lets her feel her smile.  Then, before Lan Fan can protest further, she clasps her by the hips, leans up, and gives her wet, weeping entrance a long, slow lick, ending with a gentle tap of her tongue at her clitoris.  Lan Fan arches her back, her breath hitching in her throat.

Mei repeats the action, then begins to lap at Lan Fan like a cat at a dish of cream, paying special attention to the nub of her clitoris and the area around it.  Lan Fan begins to rock, her hands cupping her breasts as she sighs and groans in pleasure, her voice a low, throaty harmony to Mei’s soft, high sounds.  Slowly, she leans forward—unable to support herself, Mei thinks at first, until she plants her hands at Mei’s hips, bows her head, and dips her mouth into Mei’s own slit, her tongue tracing her incredibly sensitive clitoris and drawing an immediate yelp.

“Oh, sorry, Princess.  I wasn’t the one who said ‘again and again,’” she whispers, and Mei doesn’t need to see her face to know that she’s grinning.  Her mouth returns to its task, licking her clitoris with insistence, and Mei’s thighs quickly begin to shake as she struggles to focus on Lan Fan’s pleasure.  After so recent a climax, her body begins to ready itself for a second faster than a younger Mei could have ever imagined.

She seals her lips around Lan Fan’s clitoris and starts to suck, shutting her eyes as her hips writhe involuntarily beneath Lan Fan’s ministrations.  Lan Fan groans between her legs, and the vibrations make Mei twitch in pleasure; her suckling grows harder and faster the closer she climbs to her own release, her breaths coming fast and her legs trembling like spring buds in a windstorm.  At last, she has to remove her mouth from Lan Fan to satisfy her need for air, gasping as she inches toward the edge of yet another orgasm.

“Lan Fan,” she pants.  “ _Lan_ _Fan_.”

She pulls away for an instant, long enough to choke out, “You can come; that’s a good girl,” and Mei climaxes the moment she reattaches her mouth, a long, loud cry spilling from her mouth as she lies there and shakes—helpless to do anything more.  The moment her breath returns to her, she focuses on Lan Fan’s pleasure with a vengeance: suckling at her clitoris, lapping at her slit, reaching as high as she can to squeeze those perfect, perfect breasts.  Lan Fan covers Mei’s hands with her own, panting hard as she grinds herself against Mei’s mouth—at last, selfishly seeking her own release.  Mei licks harder, wishing to reward her for that selfishness; she pulls a hand free and uses it to rub her clitoris while she teases her entrance with her tongue, pushing it inside her and letting her ride it as she so loves to do.

At long last, Mei feels those muscles begin to throb, and Lan Fan begins to mutter nonsense— _“Princess; darling; gods”_ —as she nears her peak.  Her hand still clasped over her right breast, over her heart, Mei squeezes, and that does it—Lan Fan gasps as she comes, her hips quivering, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Mei’s hand as she rides out the orgasm.  When she finishes, her hand drops, and she releases a long, loud breath.  Then, a little shell-shocked, it seems, she gives a laugh.

Mei wriggles under her, and Lan Fan repositions herself so that she’s kneeling by Mei’s side.  The moment she can see her, Mei smiles, still a bit breathless herself; that causes Lan Fan to smile, and within seconds, they’re both giggling.  Mei catches hold of herself first, extending her arms—immediately, Lan Fan lowers herself into them, sealing her mouth over Mei’s as they fall onto one another in a tired, sweaty heap. 

Lan Fan’s automail presses into Mei’s side.  She doesn’t seem to notice.

“How do you feel, darling?” Mei asks softly, pushing Lan Fan’s long hair out of her face.  It inspires another laugh, Lan Fan reaching out to stroke Mei’s cheek.

“Just fine, _darling_.  Tired.  I sorely hope that you’re the same, or you’ll have to resort to your throw pillow after all.  _Ow_ ,” she adds, as Mei tugs at her hair in response.

“No, my love, I’m exhausted, too.  Stay with me.”  She cuddles into Lan Fan’s side, burying her face in her neck.  “Hold me until we fall asleep.  I know you’ll be up in a few hours anyway.”

Lan Fan looks out the window, where the barest hints of dawn are beginning at the very edge of the horizon.  Then her gaze returns to Mei.  “I think that I can sleep in this one day,” she says.

The two hold each other tight, their limbs twined like the delicate braids Mei so likes to wear, and sleep well into the afternoon, content with their dreams and the warm safety of one another.


End file.
